Bloodstream
by EllaColette
Summary: It wasn't fair, that much Kakashi knew, but the fact that she bore her name left him with the constant reminder of his own burdened conscious. Yet no matter how far she fled, he always found himself coming right after her. It was obvious and mutual: they had gotten into each other's bloodstreams and were left with no way out. (Kakashi/OC)
1. Wake Up

The earthen ground crunched gently beneath Kakashi's zori but he didn't seem to mind. The mission at hand required no stealth and he'd wouldn't exert any excess energy in trying. Besides, she wouldn't have detected him anyway. By the way her slender fingers curled around the heavy scarlet scarf around her neck with such care; the way she held it up to her face to brush her delicate peach flesh with its warmth; the way she breathed in so deeply the smell of it, her eyes closed as if the scent had a trance on her and her cheeks sat higher as her lips curled with delight as the memories unfolded; it was evident that she was so engrossed by the article itself that not a thing could free her from her reverie.

As he came closer, he heard her sigh and her eyes—fogged over with some distant fantasy—looked him over once before closing again, settling in for the impending reality check. "So you found me," she breathed as her fingers gently lowered the scarf from hiding her pink lips. Although the blithe smile never faltered, Kakashi could detect the tinge of sorrow carried by the breeze in her tone.

"You didn't appear to be hiding," he responded, offering his hand to the maiden. She looked at it briefly before slowly shaking her head.

"A moment longer," she requested and the nin obliged.

"You can't keep running off like this," he said after a moment.

A breeze swept back her thin locks and lifted the scent of the fabric coiled around her neck. She smiled again then, her fingers once more curling around the cloth and holding it to her nose, savoring the smell as it mixed with the fresh scent of the surrounding forest.

Kakashi knelt beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder in order to once more pull her from her stupor. "This is no way to live, Rin…" As her emerald orbs fell upon him, he watched the haze slowly fade away and the sadness color the darkest part of her eyes.

"_This_ is no way to live, Kakashi-san," she whispered, taking a delicate hand to the side of his face and holding his cheek in her palm. "Tell me," her lips curled gently around the words, "do you think of her when you look at me?"

His hand fell from her shoulder and he stepped away. His face evaded the touch of her skin and he could see that sadness in her eyes further sink in. "This is improper," he said flatly before turning away. "Prepare yourself for the journey back to the village. And this time, intend to stay there; this will be the last time I offer to take up this mission."

She rose and shook the earth free from her gown, the billowy white fabric painted with smudges of brown dirt and hues of green stains. She could smell the faint aroma of the forest clinging to her attire but the scent of the scarf was supreme. She held it to her face one last time as she took a fleeting glance back at the village in the valley below. As she closed her eyes, she engraved the image to her memory, to be revisited with every inhale of the scarf's intoxicating scent.


	2. Look Me in The Eyes Again

She would often lead him to the outskirts of Konohagakure where the grass stood tall and the light filtered in through the canopy of leaves overhead. She would spin around on the tips of her toes, faster and faster until she couldn't anymore and tumbled dizzily to the ground, her laughter chiming between the trees and inviting the birds to sing along.

He had never seen someone so overwhelmed with the simple feeling of being alive and her merriment proved to be infectious as he often found a smile forming beneath the cloth of his face mask. She would roll over onto her stomach and pinch the fabric between her finger and her thumb, eyes glittering with excitement as she slowly drew the mask downward. But he would catch her wrist before she could unveil anything more than his jawline and she would scowl then fall into laughter all the same.

He had never understood the attraction or really what had him so drawn to her at all. She was a frail thing, white as a dove with mousy brown hair that hung limply past her shoulders, but eyes that truly were the color of a precious stone. It was those, he decided, that had him so mesmerized because despite the chiming of laughter, the quick and vibrant flash of her teeth, there was an ever present sadness that inhabited the darkest fractions of them and in turn, they consumed him.


End file.
